“Never mind,” replied the soldier, who seemed a decent sort of fellow.  “We won’t do you any harm, but you must give us something to eat.  We are nearly dead with hunger and fatigue.”

Then the girl moved aside.

“Come in;” she said.

Then entered, covered with snow, their helmets sprinkled with a creamy-looking froth, which gave them the appearance of meringues.  They seemed utterly worn out.

The young woman pointed to the wooden benches on either side of the large table.

“Sit down,” she said, “and I’ll make you some soup.  You certainly look tired out, and no mistake.”

Then she bolted the door afresh.

She put more water in the pot, added butter and potatoes; then, taking down a piece of bacon from a hook in the chimney earner, cut it in two and slipped half of it into the pot.

The six men watched her movements with hungry eyes.  They had placed their rifles and helmets in a corner and waited for supper, as well behaved as children on a school bench.

The old mother had resumed her spinning, casting from time to time a furtive and uneasy glance at the soldiers.  Nothing was to be heard save the humming of the wheel, the crackling of the fire, and the singing of the water in the pot.

But suddenly a strange noise—­a sound like the harsh breathing of some wild animal sniffing under the door-startled the occupants of the room.

The German officer sprang toward the rifles.  Berthine stopped him with a gesture, and said, smilingly: 

“It’s only the wolves.  They are like you—­prowling hungry through the forest.”

The incredulous man wanted to see with his own eyes, and as soon as the door was opened he perceived two large grayish animals disappearing with long, swinging trot into the darkness.

He returned to his seat, muttering: 

“I wouldn’t have believed it!”

And he waited quietly till supper was ready.

The men devoured their meal voraciously, with mouths stretched to their ears that they might swallow the more.  Their round eyes opened at the same time as their jaws, and as the soup coursed down their throats it made a noise like the gurgling of water in a rainpipe.

The two women watched in silence the movements of the big red beards.  The potatoes seemed to be engulfed in these moving fleeces.

But, as they were thirsty, the forester’s daughter went down to the cellar to draw them some cider.  She was gone some time.  The cellar was small, with an arched ceiling, and had served, so people said, both as prison and as hiding-place during the Revolution.  It was approached by means of a narrow, winding staircase, closed by a trap-door at the farther end of the kitchen.

When Berthine returned she was smiling mysteriously to herself.  She gave the Germans her jug of cider.

Then she and her mother supped apart, at the other end of the kitchen.